


The Woods

by KayleighH2203



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22869442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleighH2203/pseuds/KayleighH2203
Summary: Inga woke up on the edge of a forest, a forest filled with sickness and decay. She knows they are being watched, she knows they are being followed.*A little something I came up with, let me know what you think and if you like it, I'll continue it**Rating may change as the story develops*
Comments: 36
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

Inga looked up at the trees that surrounded them. Something was very wrong here.

Predominantly because she and her companions had woken up and found themselves on the very edge of a forest with no recollection of how they had got there.

But there was something wrong with the forest too. It felt sick, an illness festering in the trees to their very roots. It felt wrong, as did the way the trees on the very edge of the woods seemed to form an inviting doorway, tempting in weary travelers.

_Come. Rest here. We will shelter you from the coming storm._

“Look," Brynjolf's voice cut through her thoughts. He was large man, bald with a full beard covering his weak chin and with a fondness for holding court. He was well past his prime but his pride would never let him admit it. "There's a road,” he said, “Meaning someone built it, and it leads somewhere. There's no life out there save for that bloody great bear, so I say we follow it. Someone on the other end must know what happened to us."

Looking over, Inga could see Alric and Wulfric looking hesitant. She couldn't blame them. It had been confusing to find themselves here, the only clear thought being that they couldn't stay out there in the open. That bear had been far too interested in them. And he looked hungry, so they had made for the shelter of the trees.

Now they stood around, just inside the gateway, debating what to do next. Brynjolf was insistant that they follow the road. His face was starting to turn red as his temper flared. Both Alric and Wulfric were shorter than he, and lifelong friends the three of them. Neither of them could come up with an alternative to Brynjolf’s plan. Inga was unsure what to think. Yes, the bear was frightening, but there was something in these woods that equally scared her. Eyes were on her, she could feel it in the prickle on the back of her neck. Someone or something watched them, something was waiting for them to make their move.

"Brynjolf's right," Eadric broke the uneasy silence. "We stay here, we're going to be easy pickings for that bear. Get Anlaf to his feet. We have to move, and this road is the only clue we have to where we might find civilization." The men turned to look at him. Eadric was a mere five years older than Inga, his curly dark hair and startling green eyes entranced any who came near him, men and women both, all suddenly finding themselves agreeing with whatever he said. It almost masked the fact that he was completely devoid of personality and always agreed with Brynjolf.

To her right, Rothgar, a young, red-headed man, crossed his arms and frowned as the others began to herd together, heading deeper into the forest. He caught her eye.

"You feel it too?" he mouthed, lest the others hear them. Inga nodded silently. They were the youngest two in their group, and the others paid little mind to them, especially Inga.

As the only woman amongst them, she found it difficult to be heard over the brash male voices that always surrounded her. She missed Aesa, Flossi, and Emma. They had no problems letting themselves be heard, but Inga did not yet have that confidence.

Rothgar sighed and trudged forward to join the others, Inga instinctively fell into step behind him. Neither of them had the nerve to challenge Brynjolf it seemed. As the others moved beyond the small clearing and deeper into the woods, something caught her eye. She paused.

Something covered in moss and vines lurking on the edge of the natural gate. Inga reached out and brushed the vines aside. It was a face! Or rather the worn-away face of a statue. Female if she had to guess. Looking around, she saw no sign of a male counterpart. A solitary gatekeeper, welcoming them to shelter, or to their doom?

“Inga!”  
“Coming!”

*

Inga was now certain, as they trudged on for a second day that they were headed to their deaths.

The forest wasn't just sick, it was dying, decaying before their very eyes, and yet, none of the others, save Rothgar, could see it. They saw only trees and leaves; they saw a forest.

They did not observe the scars of past fighting embedded in the bark. They could not smell the rotten stench of past years autumn fall. They seemed oblivious to the lack of flowers, fruit, or nuts on the trees. The whole forest was dying, slowly, painfully. The old trees withering away year by year and no saplings to replace them when they inevitably collapsed.

While they had rested that night, Inga had been sent to find water with Anlaf whilst the others set about making a fire to warm themselves. Anlaf could feel something, he always could, his bad leg, for all that he cursed it, told him something was wrong. But he would admit nothing. He was a former soldier, he followed orders, and with his wife Bera not among their number, he followed Brynjolf. No amount of pleading from Inga would sway him.

Still, he gave her a knowing look with his watery grey eyes when she and Rothgar sat as far from the fire as possible and said nothing when they extinguished it on their watch. A scarred and calloused hand on her shoulder was consolation when she was chastised for letting the fire die. But Inga knew. If she had allowed it to burn, they would all have been dead by morning.

Something lurked in the forest.

*

For three days, they knew hunger and water was hard to come by. Inga began to pass the water skin to Anlaf at her own expense, he struggled so. And still, Brynjolf and Eadric would not listen. There was nothing following them, they said, nothing watching them. She imagined things from not drinking her water. They would not listen.

She became frustrated. Why? Why would they not listen to her and to themselves?! They were leading them to their own destruction, she could feel it.

They rested for a while at Anlaf's request. To rest his leg, he said, or chop it off at the knee and be done with the confounded thing. That had sent a ripple of laughter through the men, but Inga was in no mood for humor.

She excused herself, to pass water, she told them. But the only water she could spare was tears of frustration. They would not listen! And if they would not listen, they would die, she was certain.

Once she was far enough away, she wept. She wept for the men who would never see their wives and children again due to their own pride and arrogance, she wept for the sons who would never see their parents again, and she wept for herself, for not being able to put a stop to this madness.

A gentle breeze lifted one lock of hair. Inga raised her head. She had not felt the wind since they came to this accursed place. How could she feel it now, so deep within these dead and rotting woods? She saw nothing before her, so she turned to head back to her companions.

And stopped dead.

*

Rothgar watched where Inga had disappeared into the trees. It had been too long, far too long for her to only be going to pass water. Something had happened to her. He wanted to go find her, but the others would never allow it. They hadn't even noticed she was missing. Save Anlaf, who was also watching for her return.

Just as he was giving up hope, she stepped through the moss-covered shroud of gnarled trees and massive ferns. She looked white as snow. Her eyes stared through them, unseeing, and her hands shook, though they remained by her side.  
  


"Inga!" Rothgar shouted unintentionally, drawing everyone's attention to her silent return. He rushed over. "Where have you been?"

"We are in their lands," she said weakly, "You must all do as I do, or else they will slay us as trespassers."

“Who? Who will?” Rothgar demanded, his heart sinking. Inga did not answer. She merely raised her hands and carefully linked her fingers behind her head before slowly descending to her knees on the forest floor. There she remained, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Inga...”

“Rothgar, please,” she choked out, “They will kill us all.”

Silence had now descended upon them, all of them watching as Inga knelt on the ground, hands still trembling and tears rolling down her cheeks. Rothgar did not question her.

He put his hands behind his head as she had and slowly knelt. He could feel them now, more and more by the second. Eyes watching, waiting. Hands ready to reach for bows, arrows, and swords. Deadly aim and even deadlier intent focussed upon them.  
  


“Everyone down,” he said, “We are surrounded.”

One by one, beginning with Anlaf, the other men went to their knees. The presence Inga had felt from the very beginning was here once more, stronger this time, closer. Her whole body began to tremble. Rothgar kept his eyes on the forest floor beneath him, but he heard light footsteps on the road they had been following.  
  


The swish of a cloak, the gentle tap of a sword’s scabbard on leather boots. No one dared look for who was coming, save Inga. Her eyes raised and focused just behind Rothdar's kneeling form, a shadow covered her. Rothgar was facing away from the newcomer, but he saw the reflection in Inga’s eyes before she quickly cast them down again.  
  


A tall creature of preternatural youth and beauty, emanating with old power. Old, so very old. The gentle sound of fabric brushing against skin and a glove came down to rest on Rothgar’s shoulder. Inga resisted the urge to whimper in fear or flinch away when a long-fingered hand brushed her cheek then tilted her chin so that she was forced to look into his eyes.

He said nothing. Inga could not look away, his gaze was penetrating. She felt as though her soul was laid utterly bare to him, nothing was hidden, he would not allow it.

From the treeline, Rothgar saw people emerging. Youthful faces bearing impossibly old power, every one of them. Then the one behind him spoke to Inga. A voice as powerful and deep as the forest itself.  
  


“Who are you that wanders in this realm of mine? Who dares trespass into the lands of Thranduil Oropherion?”


	2. Chapter 2

Inga gripped the front of the saddle as they made their way over uneven ground. The long, slow march to wherever it was their captors traveled filled her with a sense of impending doom. 

Alongside the beast she was seated upon, her friends were bound. Each was flanked by a deadly Elven warrior, ready to restrain them if they showed any sign of fleeing or resisting.

One had already tried. Eadric. He was now slung across an Elven soldier's shoulders, whimpering in pain, his knee tightly bound to stem the blood flow. Elven aim was lethal. 

Inga looked up at the one who called himself Thranduil, unable to tear her eyes away. Awe and fear filled her. So beautiful was his face, but he was deadly. She was sure of it. He could tear her to pieces if the fancy took him and leave what remained out here for whatever foul beasts lurked in the trees. 

***  
_He spoke again, asking once more who they were and why they trespassed in his lands. Inga thought to speak, to tell him the truth, but no words came when she opened her mouth. It had been Alric who had answered._

_"We are lost, sir," he kept his eyes lowered, and his tone respectful. "Some strange event befell us, and now we find ourselves displaced and alone. We do not know these lands; we are far from home and bewildered as to how we came to be here… my Lord," The Elf's attention turned to him._  
_"My King," the Elf corrected him before continuing. "You speak as if you have fallen afoul of the strangest magic," the King drawled, obviously not convinced. "We just want to go home," Alric’s voice cracked as he spoke. He was always a calm, sensible voice of reason, but even he seemed to cower now. Behind him, Brynjolf had lost all his bluster and was silent as the grave._

_"But to trespass," Thranduil continued, tilting his head and directing the full weight of his glare at the man, "Did you not see the gate and guardian and know these lands to be protected?"_

_“Aye,” Alric admitted, “We did. But we would rather take our chances on your good selves than the bear that lurks at your borders."_  
_Thranduil glanced at one of the other Elves._  
_“Beorn is on the prowl again," he sounded weary, "Send a messenger and see what prompts him."_

_A dark-haired elf nodded and quickly took off, a red-headed warrior following soon after. Thranduil turned to another elf, seemingly forgetting the humans still on their knees around him._

_The King was speaking quickly, giving orders in a language Inga did not recognize. She took a deep breath and felt herself relax slightly. The bear, it seemed, was not something to be feared as much as she thought. Not if he counted it as an ally to the elves. But was he theirs?_

_Out the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Eadric was not being watched closely, his guard having gone off to find the bear, Beorn, and he was shifting backward, still on his knees. She caught his eye; he meant to make his escape and leave them to whatever fate Thranduil had planned for them. No, she thought, do not run!_

_Eadric flashed her a grin, one that always meant trouble. He thought himself quick, both in mind and body. He was a fool, Inga thought desperately. Without delay, Eadric was on his feet, turning and running swiftly back along the road._

_"Eadric, no!" Inga cried as Thranduil's head turned sharply. He spied the man trying to flee and watched for a moment, seemingly amused. Eadric was moving quickly, headed for a slight bend in the road, which would take him out of sight. Thranduil let out a sigh and spoke a single word._

_“Pilin!”_

_An arrow flew through the air. But it was too low, or so Inga thought. It pierced Eadric through the knee, and he fell screaming. Thranduil brushed past her and towards the fallen man who now rolled on the forest floor, clutching his leg._

_His screams were pitiful, and Inga watched in horror as the Elven King descended upon him. Two of the soldiers pulled Eadric to his feet, the man openly weeping as a torrent of blood stained his trousers. It made Inga feel sick to see._

_"Do. Not. Flee. It was a simple task," Thranduil growled, a dangerous warning in his voice, "You are trespassers. I do not tolerate trespassers."_  
***

Now they marched, heading to wherever the Elven King intended to imprison them. Although Eadric had received rough treatment, the others were all dealt with fairly enough. Two of the guards supported Anlaf and helped him walk, talking between them in their own language before asking him questions about his leg. 

Inga was the only one placed on a mount, under the watch of Thranduil himself. The Elven King sat close behind her, although he did not touch her, save for unintentional brushes of his arms against hers as he steered the giant Elk they rode. He had singled her out, it seemed, though, for what, she did not know.

***  
_The Elves tended to Eadric’s wound, perhaps not as gently as they could have been. He let out small anguished cries when they removed the arrow and bandaged the wound. Thranduil had turned his attention back to the rest of the group._

_Inga now shook in fear. Their aim was deadly if they turned their mind to it. She did not want to find herself in the same condition as Eadric, or worse. She did not want to see how truly vicious they were. What kind of creatures could look so young, feel so old, and yet be so dangerous?_  
_"Stand," Thranduil commanded, "We shall deal with you as we see fit. Do not think to run, or you will suffer the same treatment as your friend." Eadric let out a sharp yelp as his knee was bound tightly. Inga cowered, her legs not listening as she tried to stand._

_She knew without looking that Thranduil's gaze was once more on her. It never faltered, not even when he had whipped his glove off Rothgar’s shoulder where it had been forgotten momentarily. One of his guards silently materialized at her side, asking questions in their strange tongue._  
_"She rides with me," Thranduil spoke calmly, "The others walk."_

_He reached down and took Inga's arm, gently guiding her to her feet. A sharp whistle and a massive Elk appeared a bridle and bit about its head and a large saddle on its back. She barely had time to react when she felt herself being lifted to sit on the saddle while the others were bound at the wrist._

_She was very high up, she knew, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the leather of the saddle. She kept her eyes fixed on what was before her. She felt cold, shivering, although her friends had sweat on their brows as they fought to keep the pace of their captors. Her heart pounded. She was certain that death awaited them, or some equally foul fate._  
***

She caught Rothgar’s eye as they marched. He looked concerned whilst the others seemed jealous of her treatment and wary of their captors. His gaze flicked from her to the Elf behind her and back again before looking forward. Though not for long.  
"Inga," his voice was heavy with concern, "Are you well?"   
Truthfully, Inga's hands felt numb, and her stomach felt like it was flipping over and over. She shook her head.  
“Inga...” Rothgar flashed a panicked look at the King, "She's going to be sick." 

Almost instantly, Inga felt herself being lifted from the saddle and down to the ground. She stumbled as she was guided to the edge of the road where her stomach gave up its hold on what little it had. Mostly water, it was still unpleasant. 

She clung to the arm that supported her around her waist. Her hair was gathered up in someone's hand as she heaved, but naught came. There was nothing left. She could hear her friends talking, all of them too far back to be the one holding her. 

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and turned to see who held her so gently, rubbing her back soothingly. She looked up and came eye to eye with Thranduil. Those eyes! Such piercing blue, she thought, like a pale winter sky. 

Eyes that looked like they could penetrate flesh and bone and see the very heart and soul of a person. He was King here, and for good reason. Nothing could escape him if he turned his mind to it. He was the watcher in the woods, the unseen guardian of the forest.

"Better?" he asked softly. Inga could do naught but nod in response.  
“Good,” he said, straightening her up, “Tis only a short ride now.”  
"Where are we going?" her eyes were still locked on his.  
“The Halls of the Elven King. My Halls.”


	3. Chapter 3

Inga stared up at the great halls of the Elven-King in wonder. She had never seen anything like this before. It made the simple stone and thatch buildings of home look like hovels barely fit for pigs. She heard the surprised gasps of her companions as they filed in, under the watchful gaze of Thranduil and his soldiers.

Slowly, the guards began to filter down to one side, each taking their own charge with them. Inga was too busy staring at the high vaulted ceilings to notice that she was being led elsewhere. She was transfixed by the contrast of smooth, carved stone, interrupted by hanging stalactites. It was Rothgar’s shout that brought her back to reality.   
  


“Inga! Inga!”

She looked around and saw her companions, being led down a descending path whilst she was being led towards an ascending one.

"Rothgar!" she cried, attempting to break free of her guard, but they held her firm and continued to pull her along their path.

The others began to take up the cry, alerted to her absence by Rothgar. She could hear her name being called, the sounds of the others wrestling to be free of their captors to no avail. None were strong enough or fast enough to outmatch or outpace an Elf.

So Inga was lead away. Up and up they went until Inga was certain they were going to come out at the top of a mountain when they finally plateaued. Not a mountain top. Instead, the guard led her down various crisscrossing tunnels and paths until Inga was no longer sure which direction they had come from.

Whether it was to confuse her or just how the Elves built their homes, she didn't know. She was frightened. The only reassurance was that no matter how firmly she was held by the guard, they did not hurt her.   
  


Finally, they came to a set of doors made from sturdy oak. The guard raised a fist and knocked three times. The doors opened, and a She-Elf stood there, looking at the guard first and then to Inga.

Inga felt intimidated at first by the sight of the She-Elf. She was as fair of face as any of her kind, and dressed so elegantly, at least Inga thought so. Was she to serve this person? Was she to be given as a gift from Thranduil? She did not know.

The She-Elf spoke to the guard in their own tongue before Inga was handed over to her. Her grip was as firm as the guards, and she led Inga through a small sitting room, closing the doors behind them, and through an archway.

On the other side was a bed-chamber, a simple but comfortable looking bed, a closet for hanging clothes, and a small table with a looking glass hanging above it the only furniture but still complete luxury to Inga's weary eyes.

Through an archway, the Elf led Inga and into another chamber. In the center of the rounded room, carved into the stone floor, was a steaming pool of water. It looked warm and inviting, but Inga was soon distracted by three more She-Elves who approached them.

"Be not afraid," the one who had taken her from the guard said. She released Inga's arm, and for a brief moment, Inga thought to run. But where could she go? She could leave these rooms sure enough, but beyond that, she had no hope of finding her way out. She watched as the three Elves approached her. What did they want with her? What were they going to do?

She jumped with a yelp when she felt the first Elf pluck at the laces that fastened her dress.  
"Be still," another warned, and Inga shrank away. They made short work of her dress, tugging it quickly from her body. A hand grabbed her ankle and removed her shoes and tattered woolen socks. Then two others took her by the arms and led her to the pool.

She took a cautious step over the edge and found a ledge just beneath the surface of the water. They began to wash her legs. They were careful, gentle even, almost as if they were checking for hidden injuries. Inga glanced back over her shoulder and saw the first Elf bundling up her clothes and shoes and leaving with them. She jumped as one cleaned between her legs, touching her quickly and efficiently.  
“Sit,” one of them ordered, she was no longer sure which one.

Cautiously, she lowered herself to sit on the ledge, her legs dangling over into the deeper water. She felt a chill run down her spine. Almost as if she was being watched by hidden eyes once more.

She looked up, noticing a balcony running along the rounded edges of the room, but no sign of anyone up there. Instinctively, she covered her exposed chest, but her arms were quickly tugged away by one of the Elves, and her head tipped back.

Warm water was poured over her hair while two others began scrubbing her arms, neck, and chest. Inga didn't notice their work anymore, however. Her eyes were transfixed on the ceiling above her. A large circular window filled it, decorated with different colored glass to form a picture. A mosaic.

Around the edges of the window, she saw depictions of great deeds, the founding of a Kingdom, the march to battle, and in the center, was the clear image of Thranduil's face, looking down at her. Almost as if he were watching her with those piercing eyes beneath a crown of twigs and berries.

Those hidden eyes that had been spying on them since they entered the forest. Inga was certain it was him now. He was the King of the Wood Elves, this was his domain, and she was but a guest...or a prisoner.

Though she knew of no prisons like this, she thought, as the Elves continued to wash her hair and body. Why had she been separated from the others? The Elves began to whisper to each other in their own tongue, guiding her to stand and leave the water.

She was carefully patted down to dry, and her hair and skin anointed with fragrant oils that she had never encountered before. All the while she felt those eyes upon her. She tried to assure herself it was just the window that gave her such a feeling, but she did not feel convinced.   
  


*

“ _Aran nin?_ " the sound of his loyal guard whispering, drew Thranduil from his vigil. He turned and noted Feren, Captain of the King's Guard, awaiting him. He returned his gaze once more to what was happening below him.

  
  


The woman they called Inga had been stripped and was being led to the water. He scanned over her form. A few minor cuts and bruises he noted along her shapely legs, but nothing that could have been caused by anything untoward. Simply minor injuries from trudging through an infested forest.

  
  


She was led to sit, and her gaze turned upward. The King swept away before she could lay eyes on him. She felt uneasy enough, even with his most trusted _elleth_ attending her. She would not want to know a male, especially him, had been watching her when she was so exposed and vulnerable.

  
  


He left the balcony and headed through the narrow tunnel that led away from the bathing chamber, Feren falling in behind him.  
  
  


“What news?” Thranduil asked as he began to climb the stairs at the end of the passage.

"They go peacefully enough, though they demand the return of the girl," the Captain replied.

  
  


"Not a girl," Thranduil corrected him, "She is a woman grown. A girl would not have her shape." His mind turned to the curve of her hips and breast. Yes, she was a grown woman of age, no child, as he had first thought when he felt her presence.

  
  


He could feel the Silvan elf’s eyes burning into the back of his head but ignored it. It was not Feren’s place to question his King’s actions. They emerged from behind a tapestry into Thranduil’s own chambers. His thoughts turned back to her companions.

  
  


"Tell them, they are trespassers, my prisoners by right," he said, shedding his gloves and cloak and discarding them upon a couch, "They have no right to demand anything. She will be returned to them when I deem it acceptable."

  
  


"You believe they mistreat her?"

"I know it," Thranduil growled, "I have watched them since they entered these lands. Though they may not maltreat her or otherwise harm her physically, one need only observe her to see a beaten-down spirit and withered soul.

  
  


One or more of them has worn away her resolve, her pride, and confidence. Would you expect me to allow the same to befall of one of our own? Of any _elleth_ within my lands?"  
"No!" Feren replied, aghast at such a notion.

  
  


"Then I will not allow it of her," Thranduil replied, "See to it that the men are all fed and watered suitably. Only _elleth_ are to attend the one they call Inga. I feel she will fear any _ellon_ who approaches her."  
"Yes, _aran nin_ ,” Feren nodded and quickly left through the main door.

  
  


Thranduil watched him go before sighing and looking back towards the tapestry. Gwestiel and the others would be done with their work soon enough and be ready to report their findings, though he expected it to match his own conclusions. A crushed spirit he could not abide, not when he could see the flame burning beneath it, ready to flourish and crackle as it was intended.  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

A knock at the door brought Thranduil from his musing. He lifted his gaze from his untouched goblet of wine and the flickering fire before him.

"Enter," he spoke so softly that none but elvish ears would have heard him. The door opened, a member of his personal guard stepped in.

Gleaming mithril mail disguised the elven warrior's face. He stopped at a respectful distance and took a knee before his King. The elf stood and stepped aside as the four _elleth_ that had been sent to serve the woman called Inga silently filed into the room behind him.

Gwestiel had long been in service to the King; the other three ladies were hand-picked by her to follow whatever orders he gave them. He watched each of them as they took their place before him.

It was unusual to see them dressed as simple maids. For at least two of them, this was his first time seeing their faces unobscured by hoods. Gwestiel, tall and dark-haired like a Bloodgood Maple tree, stood directly in front of him, dressed in a delicate gown of green satin.   
  


For a moment, they stood unmoving before their seated King. With the inherent grace given to all Eldar, they curtseyed low before him. They rose slowly, standing straight and tall, and looked past him in deference.

Always it had been this way with them. He did not question their methods, and they did not challenge his orders.

"Gwestiel," he said simply, looking upon their leader, "Your report."

"The girl...my apologies," she noted the momentary scowl upon her King's face, "The woman shows no sign of being physically put upon. She has not been abused, beaten, or otherwise forced."

"I sense there is more," he said, dryly, watching the _elleth_ closely. He had not been able to question nor examine Inga as carefully as he might like, certainly not with her companions so close at hand. But Gwestiel could. Under the guise of maid and friend, she would soon know all of Inga’s secrets, if the _firieth_ had any.

"However," Gwestiel continued calmly, "She bears the marks of many years of hard labor. The palms of her hands and the soles of her feet are marred with callouses, healed cuts, and blisters. Her feet were pinched by shoes too small for her as she grew. The sinews in her arms, shoulders, and back are as though she were a young warrior, fresh from training.”  
“She is strong?” he asked, almost hopefully.  
“Yes, though I feel she does not know this,” Gwestiel replied.

Thranduil let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, reaching for his goblet as he did so. He took a moment to take a deep sip and savor the feel as the rich, red liquid blazed a trail down his throat. He pondered Gwestiel's words in silence for a few moments.

"There is more?" he asked again, expectantly, stretching out his long legs before him and fixing his gaze upon the _elleth_ before him.  
“She could be stronger,” Gwestiel said, “But there is little fat upon her body, she is underfed. _Aran nin_ , she bears all the signs of being destitute and serving a careless lord, no doubt fat from her toil. I would not expect her to survive past her fortieth year unless intervention is made."

"Too often have we witnessed such foolishness on behalf of Men," Thranduil muttered, anger welling up inside him. "Greedy, willing to take and give nothing in return. They grow fat and rise to power, whilst generous souls are crushed into the ground.

Never have I been more glad that our people cast out those ways ere the coming of the Light. Might you speculate as to her occupation?”

Gwestiel shook her head.

"No, my King," she said, "Too many conflicting signs to pinpoint a specific task. A general...what is it the humans call them? A dogsbody. She fetches, she carries, she cuts and chops. Hands and feet worked to the bone."

"I suspect we will not find an equivalent amongst her male companions, not to the same extent at least," Thranduil mused darkly, "Speak with Tauriel. I want the men examined also. I suspect some of them will show signs of taking more than their fair share and doing less."  
"Yes, my King," Gwestiel replied, bowing her head, "Is there more?"  
  


Thranduil set down his cup and rose to his feet. Instantly, Gwestiel and her attendants stepped backward, heads lowered in submission to him.   
“Inga is to be served by you three, and you three alone,” he said firmly, “You will see to her meals, her bathing, her clothes. If she wishes to leave her rooms, you are to accompany her. She may wander where she wishes within reason, but not to the cells without my consent. Am I clear?"

"Yes, _Aran nin_ ,” the _elleths_ chorused.  
“Leave us then, wait upon her. See that she eats and is well-rested," Thranduil turned his attention to Gwestiel, "Have you more to say?"  
"Yes, my King. In private, if I may?”  
"Then you may remain," he retrieved his cup before turning and dismissing the other _elleths_.

He watched them file out of the door without a word uttered among them before looking over his shoulder at Gwestiel.  
"What is it?" he asked once he had heard the door shut, and their footsteps fade.

"Your suspicions were correct," she spoke solemnly, "She has served others, at the cost of herself. I could not tell you when she last bathed or took the time to care for her hair beyond twisting it into a knot.

When we moved to comb her hair, she made not a sound though it must have been painful; it was so tangled. She flinched once and immediately apologized for it. She bites at her nails and fingers frequently.” Thranduil scowled. This was one of those occasions where he did not relish being right. He looked Gwestiel in the eyes.

"You would tell me if any of my own people were being treated as such, or were allowing themselves to be so, would you not?" he asked.

"Of course, my King," Gwestiel replied, "I walk amongst your subjects for precisely that purpose. I see that which might be hidden from you, hear what would be whispered behind your back."

"Good," Thranduil drained the cup and set it aside, "Then I would be no hypocrite for being outraged?"

"Not at all."

"Excellent. Now, I would have Inga brought to me, that I might see more clearly for myself that which you have described. Perhaps she will open herself to the mercy of a King."

"My King?"

"Here, tonight. I would have the firieth join me for my evening meal," Thranduil explained. Gwestiel raised one eyebrow.  
"I refer not to the carnal variety," he growled as though reading her thoughts, "That is already taken care of."

"Forgive me, my King," Gwestiel said, bowing her head, "But you must know that...since the Queen..."

"I know the whispers," he snapped, "You tell me of them yourself after all. Fear not, Inga is quite safe from _those_ appetites.”  
“Very well, my King, my apologies for doubting your intentions,” Gwestiel deferred politely, "I shall see she is dressed suitably. If I am excused?"

"You are," he said, turning his back to her once more. He heard her step towards the door.

"Oh, and if you would be so kind as to inform your husband of my appetites regarding carnality," Thranduil added, taking his seat and another sip of wine. "I do believe Captain Feren left here under the wrong impression."  
"I shall certainly pass along the message," Gwestiel replied before leaving the room, and the King to his thoughts once more.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Inga felt frozen in place, she did not dare lift her gaze from the floor beneath her feet.   
  


The three she-elves had returned, telling her they had been instructed to serve her. She was sure she had heard them correctly at first. She was no lady that much was certain, but they were rather insistent that these were their King's orders.

The one called Siladhiel had informed her that the King had given her permission to go wherever she wished in his Halls. She was forbidden only one place... the dungeons where her party was being kept.

Inga had felt uneasy at the condition, separating her from her own people. She felt even more so when Siladhiel had brought forth a satin and lace gown and announced that Inga was to wear it when she dined with the King.  
  


_Dine with the King?!_

The gown was beautiful, white satin overlaid with pale gold lace, embroidered with dozens of unusual and delicate flowers. It felt wrong to Inga. For her to wear such finery and given ladies to tend her. Her companions would be sleeping in a dungeon while she dined with a King!

The King must surely have mistaken her for someone else. Or perhaps, his intentions were not entirely innocent. She opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a single look from Gwestiel. She was the dark-eyed She-Elf who had taken Inga from the guard and led her to her toom.

Inga had been stripped of the simpler, more familiar clothing she had been given and had been laced into the dress Siladhiel had provided. Soft slippers, matching the pale gold of the dress, had been placed on her feet. Inga had never known such comfort!

Her hair had been tamed by them earlier and was now elegantly arranged at the nape of her neck. Catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass, Inga did not quite recognize herself. All too soon, they whisked her from the room and through seemingly endless winding, twisting corridors. She was brought before two enormous wooden doors, carved beautifully with the sigil that Inga now recognized as Thranduil's own.

Standing at either side of the door were two guards, their armor smooth, and glinting in the light from the hanging lanterns. Their faces were hidden behind chain-mail that hung from their helms. Only a flash of bright eyes could be seen of their faces. Seeing Gwestiel approach, they had moved from their positions and opened the doors, granting admittance to Inga and her guardian.

Now she stood before the King, Gwestiel appearing to have vanished into thin air. The doors were shut tight behind her. Silence. She peered nervously about the room and found the King watching her intently.

"Sit," the King instructed, indicating a tall-backed chair at a table to one side of the chamber.

Inga clung to the skirts of her dress in a bid to stop her hands from shaking. She nodded mutely and moved to sit at the table, keeping her gaze lowered, her breath shuddering in her chest. Thranduil took the chair opposite, and she could feel his eyes on her, burning through flesh and bone.

“Inga,” his voice was smooth, warm, but still, it made her shiver.  
  


“Inga, look at me," he commanded softly. She lifted her gaze and found herself unable to look away. The almost unnatural blue of those eyes demanded she not. His head tilted slightly as if studying her for a moment.

"I consider myself a kind King," he said, his words slow, methodical, "And I suspect you have not been so fortunate as my own subjects." Inga finally broke free of his gaze and looked away.

"Inga, I need to know, have any of those men taken advantage of you?" Inga instinctively lifted her hand and started to nibble at her fingertip. Thranduil sighed and reached out, wrapping his long fingers around her hand and gently pulling it from her mouth. He felt her body go rigid at his touch, and he quickly withdrew. No words were needed.

"Are one these men the Lord whom you serve?" he asked, carefully scrutinizing her reaction.

"No," she replied quietly, "He is not here." Her eyes moved to his once more, and he saw the faint glimmer of tears.

"Inga, if one of these men have done something..." He did not have a chance to finish his question as she fervently shook her head.

"Is there any amongst your companions that might be trusted to keep and defend your honor?" he asked, "Father, brother, husband?"

"My father is not here, my lord," she said quietly, "I have no brothers and no husband." Thranduil leaned back in his chair and studied her for a moment.

"Eat, Inga, please," he gestured to the food before her. It was not an extravagant meal as he did not wish to overwhelm her. The table bore simple fare of fresh bread, sliced meats, cheese, and fruit with a carafe of red wine. Still, she seemed hesitant as she studied the food before slowly taking a slice of bread and buttering it as thinly as she could.

She was utterly alone. Although Thranduil was certain there were a trusted few who could be counted as her friends amongst their group, he knew that friendships could grow and bloom, and then just as surely wither and die.

She had no permanent connection with someone who might defend her against another man's inclinations. He could not, in good conscience, return her to her people. He did not trust them. He did not trust Men. He had seen too much in his time.

When he and his father had gone to war, he had seen much of their ways and found them abhorrent. Young women barely of age falling in line behind the marching armies, passed each night from man to man like chattel. Women with young children quickly marrying a man as soon as her husband fell that she might have support and protection.

True, it was war, and it oft showed the worst in people, but seeing more than one girl fighting to shove some drunken lout off of her body was forever etched in his memory. Their cries forever rang in his ears as surely as did the sounds of Men and Elves dying on the field of Dagorlad.

The stench of death lingered still whenever he looked south and east. The smell of blood spilled to defend their world from Darkness forever fouled in his nightmares.

He looked back towards Inga, who was now eating, although she kept her gaze on her food, avoiding him.

"Eat your fill; there is plenty more where that came from," he assured her. Inga paused for a moment.

"W...why?" she asked. He was caught off guard by the question, and it took him a moment to realize she was not inquiring as to how he kept his pantry stocked.

"Why am I treating you so?" he queried. Inga nodded, daring to look up at him if only for an instant.

"Because there have been too many young women, I did not act swiftly enough to protect," he said, "And I will not allow it to happen again."

Una. Her name had been Una, and she had followed the great host of Men and Elves, alongside her mother and three sisters. They had worked to serve food and drink to the soldiers and even himself. Their tireless efforts had kept everyone fed, healthy, and hale enough to fight.

Her repayment. A man forcing her over a rough wooden bench and raping her. Thranduil had heard her cries, but the other Men had told him to ignore it, insisting it was just a passionate tryst. But they could not hear her crying, begging for the man to stop.

Too late had he decided to intervene. The girl, Una, had died from the brutal treatment and injuries she had endured. He would never forget her eyes, wide-open, staring as she lay in a pool of her own blood. Her frail, broken body had been left on the ground like refuse.

Her mother and sisters had mourned for a night when he had carried her defiled body back to the pitiful shelter they shared. A pyre had been built at his request, and her body burned. The following day, the pyre still smoldering, the host had moved on, and Una's mother and sisters returned to work.

There was no time to grieve in war, and the mother had insisted that she and her girls knew the risks. She and her daughters had made it home, Thranduil had ensured it. No man had dared lay a finger on Una's sisters.

The man who had raped Una and left her bleeding to die alone and in agony never made it to battle. He had been found hanging from a tree three days away from Dagorlad. Thranduil wished he had been the one to put him there, but alas, justice had not been served by his hand. He had his suspicions as to who had done it, but they were old soldiers, retired now to being farmers. He left them to live in peace and with his silent gratitude.

He looked to Inga, who had slowed her pace, even more, now setting a half-eaten apple on her plate.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said quietly, "But I..."

"No need to beg forgiveness," he hushed her, "You have gone days without food. It will take time to get your appetite back." He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The doors opened, and the two Guards and Gwestiel entered quietly.

"See that she is returned to her rooms," he commanded, "I am sure she will want to rest. Also, send in Captains Feren and Tauriel, I have a task for them." The three nodded, and Gwestiel turned to Inga, smiling warmly, she led the young woman away.

The doors closed, and Thranduil had a temporary reprieve. He lost himself in thought, considering each movement Inga had made and every word she had spoken, analyzing and considering his next decision. The doors opened once more, and his faithful captains stood entered silently. They bowed their heads in respect before standing straight and tall before him, waiting.

“One of the men in the cells," he said carefully, "I fear he has forced himself upon Inga at some point." Feren and Tauriel exchanged glances.

"I thought Gwestiel had reported no signs..." Feren began.

"Not since their arrival, but at some point prior," Thranduil said, rising to his feet, "When I touched her, she froze, not in fear, but in preparation. She thought myself to prey upon her."

"Would you have us question them?" Tauriel asked.

"No, release them," Thranduil said, "But keep them to the lower levels. Give them fresh clothing, necessary accommodations, and post guards at the entrance to the upper halls. They will not have the same freedom that she enjoys, and I shall limit their access to her.

Sooner or later, he will reveal himself. All we need do is wait." Tauriel and Feren both nodded, and with a wave of his hand, Thranduil dismissed them. He poured himself a drink from the carafe, noting that the one he had poured in preparation for Inga remained untouched. He had failed Una, he would not fail her.

Even if it meant keeping himself on the tightest of leashes.

Right on schedule, a knock sounded lightly at the door. Thranduil sank onto the plush sofa, stretching out his long legs.

"Enter," he spoke before taking a sip of his wine. A beautiful, raven-haired elleth entered and came to stand several feet in front of him. He raked his eyes along her feminine curves, from her feet, up her long legs, past her rounded hips and waist, to her full bosom, finally settling on her fair face. A smirk crept across his lips.

"Remove the gown," he commanded, making no pretense as to why she was there. The elleth's plump lips curved into a smile. She slowly raised her hands and swept her gown from her shoulders, dropping it in a heap at her feet. Thranduil moved slightly to accommodate the hardening length between his thighs.

"Now," he said coolly as he examined her naked form, "How do you propose to serve your King?"


	6. Chapter 6

Inga was awake before any of the maids arrived the next morning. She knew dawn was approaching, despite being in the Elvenking's halls, deep in the side of a mountain.

If she had been back home, she and her father, the baker, would have been preparing to put the first lot of loaves into the ovens and readying the dough for the second.

Theirs was not a prosperous village, but they worked hard and lived contentedly. More than once, mighty lords and ladies had bought several loaves as they had passed through, declaring it to be the most delicious bread they had ever tasted. Visitors delighted in the honey cakes Inga made whenever there were spare ingredients to be had.

But for now, it seemed, there was no work to be done. Inga dared not even feed the low burning fire for fear of getting soot on the silk nightgown she had been given.

This was all a dream. Of that, Inga had been certain when she had laid her head down the night before. In the morning, she dreamed, she would wake and be back in her own little bed. But alas, no.

She had woken in the rooms given to her by the Elvenking. Her companions remained elsewhere, in his dungeons. The King had taken a particular shine to her and was preparing her for something. She did not trust him.

She rose from the bed, wrapping a warm shawl over her shoulders and paced about the room. These rooms had obviously been lived in before her arrival. She wondered what life of luxury the former occupant had led, able to sleep away till past sunrise in a warm, comfortable bed.

She was lost in her thoughts when the door opened, and Siladhiel entered, her flame-red hair glinting in the light from the small lamp she carried. Accompanying her was another of the she-elves, one whose name escaped Inga. Still, she recognized the soft, mousy-brown hair and green eyes.

"My lady, we did not expect you to have risen already," Siladhiel said, sounding surprised. Inga did not answer her, she did not know if she was expected too.

"Please, my lady, sit," said the other she-elf, "We shall comb your hair before you bathe."

Inga took the seat on the stool before the table while Siladhiel began to light the lamps about the room.

"Please, call me Inga," she managed to say quietly as the two she-elves approached her, "I am no lady, and I would expect no she-elves to call me such."

" _Elleth_ ," Siladhiel corrected, "Not she-elves, we are _elleth_.”  
“ _Elleth_ ,” Inga repeated, “I shall try to remember.”  
“And you are a _firieth_ ,” Siladhiel continued, “A mortal woman.”  
“ _Firieth_ ," Inga repeated, "Your tongue makes it sound so... pretty." Siladhiel smiled as she combed Inga's hair.

"And what of...male elves?" Inga asked.

" _Ellon_ ," Siladhiel answered.  
" _Ellon_ , all of your words are so beautiful," Inga said quietly, "So...the King is an _ellon_?"

"Indeed he is," Siladhiel answered as she continued her work.

"Although the King needs not elven words to make him beautiful," the other elleth smirked.

"Hush, Herenya!" Siladhiel laughed, "He will hear you, and you will find yourself being secreted an invitation."

"The King can invite me wherever he wishes! But you know he would never intrude upon sacred marriage bonds," Herenya replied thoughtfully, Inga, seemingly forgotten between them.

"Ah, of course," Siladhiel returned to her work, "A hot-blooded _ellon_ he may be, but an honorable one." Inga blushed and looked down. She was unused to this sort of talk about men. To hear them speak so about their King, openly and lustfully, was something she had never experienced before.

She had been left alone with him the night before. The way Siladhiel and Herenya spoke, it seemed like the King frequently took bed partners from amongst his people. What hope had she if he desired her in such a way?

She cast such thoughts from her mind. She was no beauty like these elleth. The King would never desire her presence in his bed.

“Inga? Are you well?" Siladhiel asked.

"Y...yes," Inga replied, "I..I am just unused to such talk as this."

"Forgive us, my lady," Herenya crooned, "It is just chatter. You have nothing to fear from the King. He is a good, kind _ellon_ who would never force anyone to do something against their will. Come, it is time for your bath.”

*

Thranduil watched as the _elleth_ dressed. Her name was already forgotten and come this afternoon, so would her face. She meant little to him, no more than any other of his people.

He ignored the sultry glances she aimed at him as she adjusted her gown, the sheer material doing little to disguise the bite and hand marks that now littered her skin. She had played her part, she would be wise not to seek another role with him.

He poured himself a goblet of cool water and sank into the plush comfort of his sofa, his legs spread wide as he relaxed.

"Has my King any further need of me?" the elleth practically purred as she stood before him.

"Only that you remove yourself from my chambers," he replied, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. He did not miss the little noise of disappointment she made before she stomped out the door.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and savoring the quiet that now enveloped him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself turning his head and looking towards the grand tapestry that depicted Doriath's ancient forest kingdom, the place of his birth.  
  


Beyond, down the stairs and along a passage, lay the rooms where Inga now dwelt. She would be bathing under the watchful eye of two of Gwestiel's faithful.

He tried to cast from his mind the image of her as they had washed her the day before. She would never know that he had been there. He should not be feeling such impetus, he thought with a growl, tearing his gaze away.

She was a _firieth_ , a mortal woman. Had he not sated his desires with a willing _elleth_ that night? Oh, she had been willing! Making no complaint despite how rough he was with her, acting on the frustration he had felt for centuries.

He was never satisfied if he was honest. His carnal exploits never soothed his tumultuous soul. He was forever doomed to live in this agony that only abated when his son was near.

Alas, Legolas was gone, off to the west, to deliver news to Elrond of Rivendell. No doubt, the smug Half-Elven Lord would revel in Thranduil's latest failing, to keep the creature Gollum safe, and out of the Enemy's hands.   
  


The door opened, and he rose to his feet as Gwestiel and her husband, Feren, entered. They both bowed their heads in respect.

"What news do you bring?" he asked, turning from them to examine the contents of the tray Galion had left before dawn.

"The men have been released from the dungeons," Feren spoke first, "We have given them quarters in the lower halls. They have ceased their complaining and demands for Inga's return. Save for one."

"One?"

"He gives his name as Rothgar," Feren continued, "He does not demand her return, he only enquires as to her well being." Thranduil nodded.

"He is like her, he knew of our presence," he said, "Tell him she is well, and arrange with Gwestiel for them to meet. I think it would put Inga at ease also."

"Yes, _aran nin_ ," Feren replied, "Perhaps to the Healing Halls? He also enquires after the elderly one, Anlaf, whom we hold there." Thranduil nodded again and waved his hand dismissively.

"I trust you to do well, Feren," he stated before turning to Gwestiel, "And what have you brought, my lady?"

"Inga's clothing as you requested," she answered, "Unwashed, again, as you requested."

"Show me," Thranduil commanded, setting down his goblet and folding his arms across his chest.

The two elves quickly laid out the clothing on the floor, and a sorry affair it was. The linen shift was thin and threadbare in places. The woolen dress was in a similar state, patched and patched again in places.

The apron seemed to be held together by Inga's will alone. Her leather shoes were water-damaged, the sole was separating from the rest.

"These are not Men from Laketown or Dale," Feren surmised as he examined the clothing.

"No," Thranduil agreed, "I have seen this fashion of clothing before, but not for some three thousand years and many leagues from here." His eyes traced over the faded pattern of embroidery about the cuffs of the dress.  
“Very far from here,” he murmured, crouching down to look more closely at it, “Who are you, Inga? And how did you get here?”


	7. Chapter 7

Inga saw Gwestiel patiently stop and wait for her once more. Habit made her fall behind the elegant elleth, and it was strange to her that Gwestiel wanted her to walk beside her. This entire situation was beyond strange.

Why her, Inga wondered, why had the Elven King singled her out? Was it because she had been the one who had gotten the men to submit to his guards? Was it because she had known they were being watched?

She still felt as though eyes were always on her, unrelenting, day and night. She followed Gwestiel around a corner and almost walked headfirst into an Elf coming the other way. She froze when she saw him. He was tall, but just a little shorter than the Elven King himself. His face was fair and beautiful as any other Elf she had seen so far but stern, his eyes dark and unreadable. When he looked at her, Inga wanted to shrink away as she had when they had met in the forest.  
  


_When she had turned her head, in search of the eyes she had felt following them, he had been at her side, his dark gaze fixed on her. She had stepped away, only to collide with a solid form. Another Elf behind her, grasping her arms so she could not run._

_All around them, more Elves had appeared, dropping from the trees, emerging from hiding places in the undergrowth. Inga's heart pounded like a drum. Even if she could break free from her captor, she could see no escape from the circle that now surrounded them._

_"Who are you?" the first Elf asked, his voice low and firm. Inga opened her mouth to speak, but her words froze in her throat. A gentle breeze seemed to carry another voice on it, and the Elf tilted his head as if to listen._

_"You are with those Men?" he asked, gesturing towards where her companions were. She nodded silently._

_"Make them surrender, and we will not harm them," he declared, his stern face watching her._

_"I..."_

_"If they try to run, they will be caught," he cut her off, "If they resist, we will not hesitate." He stood up straight, one hand going to the hilt of a long sword at his hip._

_Movement around the circle caught Inga's attention, and she saw. Each one was armed to the teeth and looked more than capable of using deadly force on her companions. Something moved beyond the trees, just out of sight. A feeling of dread washed over Inga. It was the same invisible force that had been watching since they had set foot in the forest, watching, waiting._

_And now it drew ever closer, ready to pounce when the time was right. Inga looked back to the stern Elf and nodded again. The Elf behind her released her, and she fell to her knees as her legs weak from fear. She looked up from the leaf-strewn floor only to find that every Elf had disappeared back into the trees. But something still lingered closeby._

_Legs still shaking, she climbed to her feet and looked around once more. There was no sign that the Elves had ever been there. No broken trees, no footprints in the dirt save her own. Only the unseen force that compelled her to tell her companions the terms for their surrender.  
_

_*_

“ _Meleth!_ " Gwestiel's voice drew Inga back to the present. She reached out and touched the cheek of the other Elf. "This is Inga, our King's guest." For a brief moment, the other Elf smiled, and his face seemed to fill with warmth and light when he looked at Gwestiel, before turning his gaze back to Inga. His face instantly schooled back into the stern and beautiful mask he had worn before.

"I recall her face, but knew not her name," he said before bowing low to Inga, "I am Feren." Inga's voice escaped her, and she could only wordlessly watch as he rose back up to his full height.

"Feren here is my husband and a trusted commander to our King," Gwestiel spoke with pride. Feren smiled at his wife.

" _Meleth nin_ , you honor me," he said, taking her hand in his and raising it so that he might press a gentle kiss to the elleth's hand, "Forgive me, but I am late to meet with our King." He bowed his head to them both before stepping around them and continuing on his way.

Inga let out a shaky breath as Feren disappeared.  
“Are you well, Inga?" Gwestiel asked.

"Yes...I...I just recalled when your husband and I first met," Inga replied, clasping her hands to stop them trembling.

"Oh, I know he can be terrifying if one does not know him," Gwestiel said gently, "But he really is a very kind and gentle ellon."

Inga did not know how to respond, save that she did not want to know Feren, or any Elf that well. She wanted to go home, back to her friends and family. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Gwestiel gently guided her back along their route.

They walked through a large archway into a large, open room. Light flooded through four large stained glass windows in the ceiling, the scenes from the windows dancing across the floor. Inga paused to examine the first pane even as Gwestiel continued on.

It presented three elves knelt before two others, the middle one offering up a crown. Inga did not need anyone to tell her that one of the two being offered the crown was Thranduil. It was in the color of the eyes.

The second window showed Thranduil again, standing at the side of a throne on which sat his companion from the other scene. Symbols surrounded the two Elves, and they seemed to glow with white light.

"It says, 'Oropher, King of the Silvans of the Greenwood, and his heir, Thranduil,'" Gwestiel said softly when Inga looked up.

"Oropher?"

"King Thranduil's father," she supplied, "They came to these lands, homeless and destitute. But my people recognized the power and greatness within them and rose Oropher to become their King. When he passed in a war long ago, the crown passed to Thranduil, whose might is all the greater."

She turned and continued on their way, albeit much more slowly as Inga looked to the third image...only there was none. She looked up and saw that the glass was plain and clear. She looked to ask Gwestiel, but already the elleth was passing through another archway.

The fourth window showed another image. This time Thranduil wore the crown, and in his arms, he held a tiny infant, clearly his own child. Inga frowned; she had not seen or heard any indication that Thranduil had a Queen.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move, and she looked up. Standing in the archway, they had come through was the Elven King himself, studying her intently with those pale blue eyes that made her blood run cold, and her heart beat like a drum.

The King, who had threatened her people with death if they did not comply with his orders and yet had shown her undue kindness and generosity.

A King whose people said she had nothing to fear, and yet every fiber of her being screamed otherwise. Inga blinked, looking away to the image at her feet and then to the plain one before looking back towards Thranduil. He was gone, but her gut told her he was not far away. She could still feel his presence, lurking in the shadows.

Following Gwestiel, she found herself in another large room, lined with simple but comfortable-looking cots. All were empty, save two. In one, she saw Eadric, his leg still bound about the knee, looking uncomfortable, and the other was Anlaf. The older man looked far more cheerful.

"Anlaf!" she cried. He looked up, and his face broke into a smile she had not seen since he had wed his beloved wife just five summers past.

"Inga!" he said as she hurried towards him, throwing his arms open wide to embrace her, "Oh, my dear, are you well? How fare the others?"

"I am fine," she assured him, holding him all the tighter, "But I have not seen the others since our arrival. Last I heard, they had been taken to the dungeons."

"Well, old Nestadion here says they were released this morning," Anlaf said, gesturing towards an Elf who was close by, "I assumed they would have been taken to wherever you are staying." Inga shook her head.

"I have not seen them," she answered, "But Anlaf, I have been given rooms fit for the finest lady! And I have maids to serve me." Anlaf threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"Maids?! Ha! Wasted on you, they are," he said, "What an odd thing to do, give maids to a baker's daughter, send an old cripple to the healers but put all the noblest men amongst us in the dungeons." He laughed again.

"Although," he added quietly, "These Elves are masters of their craft." He looked around, noting that Nestadion was gone.

"Watch," he whispered, shifting himself, so he was sitting on the bed with his legs hanging off. He then proceeded to shake his injured leg about with no sign of any pain.

"Look Inga, full range of motion," he beamed, "And all it was, was a tea made from willow bark!"

"That's wonderful, Anlaf," Inga smiled. She had not seen him this happy and relaxed in quite some time, no pain evident in his face. Anlaf ceased his one-legged jig and took Inga's hand in both of his.

"These are good people, Inga," he said firmly, "I think we will find them to be our friends."

A shiver ran down Inga’s spine. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see the corner of a silver robe disappear out of sight. She wasn’t so sure.


	8. Chapter 8

“ _Aran nin_?”

Thranduil drew his gaze from watching Inga and turned to face his loyal captain, Feren.  
"What is it?" he asked, his irritation evident in his tone.  
"The patrols have found more... ," Feren started but let his words trail off. His expression was one of deadly seriousness.

"More? More what?" Thranduil asked, his voice losing it’s harsh edge instantly. It was not the captain’s fault.  
“Men,” Feren answered, “More bodies, I should say. They were not so fortunate as the others. They strayed from the road and..."

"Found themselves as supper for the beasts of the forest," Thranduil growled, "Show me."

He cast a brief glance back towards Inga, who was now sat beside Anlaf, listening as the old man talked. It was clear the two of them shared a fondness for each other, like a grandparent and grandchild.

Thranduil followed Feren through the winding tunnels that made up his Halls. Down past the lower halls, past the dungeons, and into the freezing cold of the cellars. The bodies had been brought here by his loyal guards, laid out as respectfully as was possible given the state of them.

  
  


Thranduil scowled as he walked amongst them. The smell was intolerable. He dreaded to think what dark beast had made a meal of them.

“Their clothing resembles that of the ones we found before," Feren commented, half turned away to avoid the stench, "Same cloth, same patterns." Thranduil nodded in agreement before lowering himself down, examining the remnants of a sleeve.

The cloth was an earthy red color beneath the dirt gathered from the forest floor, and made of thin wool. It was new, he could still smell the dye upon it, although it would have been unnoticed by the mortal wearer.

He rose to his feet. He knew that smell. It was the same scent he had smelt when he stood beside the young man called Rothgar. Rothgar's tunic was the same color. If Thranduil had to guess, the cloth came from the same dyer’s vat, possibly even the same batch, meaning they came from the same lands.

“See if any of our guests are willing to come and identify these people,” he said, dusting the debris from his hands, “I suspect they are familiar with them.”  
“Yes, my lord,” Feren said, “There is...one thing of note.” He seemed hesitant.  
“Yes?” Thranduil queried, wondering what would make his bravest captain of the guard so nervous.

"They are all male, my King," Feren said, "We scoured the forest. Two separate groups were found, no women amongst them."

"Odd," Thranduil murmured, "Why would whatever force that brought them here, bring only men save for Inga?

Do we know how long they were in the forest?"

"Given the states of the bodies and their clothing," Feren stated, "Five days perhaps?”  
“Five days?” Thranduil said softly, nodding, "So they arrived at the same time as the others."  
"It is possible," Feren confirmed.  
  


Thranduil looked around himself, at the bodies of fallen Men lying at his feet. "Five days ago, something happened, and three separate groups of Men found themselves far from home and at the mercy of the forest," he remarked. "And the single group to survive was the group with the only woman in it."

"What are you thinking, my lord?" Feren asked.

"That there is more to Inga than meets the eye," Thranduil rumbled, "I want her found and brought to me immediately. I mean to question her."

"Yes, my lord," Feren said, bowing his head, "Would you have her brought to the throne room?" Thranduil considered it for a moment.

"Yes," he said finally, "Bring her there. This time, I do not mean to be so gentle as I have. Your lady-wife must remain absent."

"Yes, my lord," Feren confirmed before turning and leaving.

Thranduil remained a while, examining the room further. More than thirty bodies lay on the floor about him. He knew there was something different about Inga. She had sensed his watchful presence ever since she had stepped foot in his lands.

She always seemed to know when he was there. That was a rare ability indeed. But now, he was not so sure it was as innocent as it first appeared, and he suspected something more sinister lay beneath the surface of this _firieth_.

*

Inga's heart pounded as Feren escorted her along the bending walkway towards the center of the Elven King's Halls. The formidable-looking captain had approached his wife whilst they had still been visiting with Anlaf in the Healing Halls.

The two had spoken in harsh, hushed tones before Feren had instructed her to follow him. Inga still found his demeanor unnerving, and now with Gwestiel's sudden absence, she was unsure what lay before her.  
  


Looming before them was a high throne, carved from an ancient tree. Reclined upon it was Thranduil himself. His face was unreadable, Inga was unsure why she was being summoned her, but his eyes were fixed on her.

She felt like she had been submerged in icy water and left naked before him. His expression did not change as they came to a stop before him.  
“Inga, as requested, _aran nin_ ," Feren said, bowing his head.

"Leave us," Thranduil said simply. Feren turned and left. Thranduil rose to his feet, and Inga shrank back.

"I want to know the truth," he said as he turned towards the steps that led down from the throne.

"Tru...truth?" Inga squeaked, confused as to what he meant.

"Yes," he continued descending the steps to stand before her, "For you see, ever since you arrived in my lands, you have been...remarkable." Inga did not speak; she only watched with wide eyes as he stalked ever closer to her.

"You knew I was there, you knew I was watching," he stated, "No mortal, Man, Dwarf or otherwise, has ever acted as you did. None have ever known it was I who watched them." He began to circle around her.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I allowed you and your group to come into my Halls, find food and shelter, and comfort," he continued, "Then today, I receive some most distressing news." He came to a stop behind her.

"Thirty men found dead in my forest," he said, his voice as hard as steel and just as cold, "Their garb shows they are from the same lands as you. Now tell me, _m_ _ô_ _riell_ , what did you do to end up here? What spell? What dark magic did you bring with you?”

A hand closed over her upper arm and spun her around.  
“Were they a sacrifice?” he snarled, "A means to bring you here? What purpose do you intend?" Inga whimpered and backed away only for him to drag her back towards him.

"I...I do not understand,” she pleaded, her hand covering his and trying to pry his fingers off her.  
“Do not try to deceive me!” he hissed, “I will know your real reason for being here, witch!"

"I am no witch!" she cried, terrified.

She tugged her arm and slipped from his grip. He reached for her again, but with unnatural swiftness, she dodged his grasp. Ducking her head, she passed underneath his arm and ran for her freedom.

The guards at the entrance moved to stop her, but one slipped on something unseen, crashing into his companion and sending them both to the floor.

Inga gathered up the soft lilac gown she wore, leaping over the crumpled heap of _ellon_ before her and practically flew along the narrow, bending walkway.

Thranduil growled, watching as her form shrank into the distance.  
“Run,” he snarled, “Run all you like, I will find you, witch. And I will know the truth of you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Inga ran, she did not dare stop. From behind and advancing quickly, she heard shouts, Elves, the King's own guard. They were searching for her but so far had failed to stop her. Inga succeeded in navigating the long, twisting walkways that surrounded Thranduil's throne room and found herself headed for the main gate.

An ebony-haired Elf spotted her and gave the command to close the gates. His companions leapt to carry out his command but found the gate impossible to close; something unseen blocked it. She slipped past their grasping fingers and out of the gate.

The shouts grew more raucous behind her, and she resisted the temptation to look back. Inga feared she would see a golden head of hair towering above the dark-haired Silvan guard. Over the bridge she flew and back out onto the Elven Road. Within seconds Inga had disappeared into the woods.

If she could lose the Elves in some way, she might just make it back through the woods, to where she had woken up, lost, and confused as all her companions. The Elven King had spoken of the great bear, named it even. If it were a friend to the Elves, she may be able to convince the fearsome beast to let her pass through his lands before Thranduil could get word to him.

But first, she needed to evade the Elves following her. Something and she could not fathom what had hindered them. Their voices were beginning to fade into the distance. She did not trust her luck to hold. She needed to get off the road and hide her tracks.

She ran for what felt like hours. There was no way to judge the passage of time due to the shadows cast by the ancient trees that loomed over the Elven road. Her lungs burned, her heart pounded, and her aching legs screamed for her to stop, but she could not risk a moment.

Something inside her insisted that she turn off the road now, that safety was nearby. She slipped between two trees, stumbling slightly as the paved road gave way to soft earth. She did not like this but she could not fight the sudden sense of urgency to get off the road.

The woods still felt old and rotten around her, festering with some putrid disease. For a brief moment, she wished she had not fled but had stayed and stood her ground. A foolish notion; she had not the courage to stand against anyone, much less the Elven King himself. Then she saw it.

A soft light appeared through the canopy, bright and fresh, holding the promise of safety, clean air, and water. Inga hurried towards it, pushing her way through the overgrown, tangled vines and moss to emerge on the other side.

Inga found herself in a clearing. It was so utterly different from the woods she had just escaped that she wondered if she had not fallen victim to some other magic. The trees here were lush and green, the grass cool and alive beneath her feet. A small pool glittered enticingly between the hanging fronds of an ancient willow tree. The water clear and clean.

How could such a place exist when the woods outside were so obviously dark and malformed? Inga stepped further inside, looking around in wonder. Berries and fruit hung from the trees and branches. She had water, she had food, and the willow tree hanging over the pool offered shelter. This would be a perfect hiding place to wait for the Elves to call off their search.

She slowly ventured further into the clearing. Perhaps the Elves did not know of this place, she hoped. There were no obvious ways in or out. The vines and moss seemed to have slipped back into place as when she passed through.

A faint snap to her left drew her attention. A bright green apple had just fallen from its tree. She picked it up and examined it. It seemed fit for eating. It felt cool, firm, no signs of worms. She took a bite and could not help the hum of pleasure that escaped her. It was sweet and crisp, perfect.

She continued eating as she walked across the clearing, taking in everything around her. The trees all seemed to be alive and thriving, unlike their cousins outside. What made this place so special? How had it evaded the creeping darkness that permeated its surroundings?

She stepped into the cool shelter of the willow tree and sat by the pool. Her apple finished, she placed the uneaten core at the root of the willow and turned to the water. Scooping some into her hand, she drank. Cold and fresh, not too sweet, she took another handful, feeling it slip down her throat, its coolness spreading all the way to her fingers and toes.

A sense of warmth and satisfaction came over her. She lay down beside the pool and closed her eyes—just a little sleep. Mother Willow would protect her, and she would wake refreshed and ready to move on again.

*

It did not escape Thranduil's notice that his guards were keeping a wide berth from him as he stomped down the Elven Road. They had lost her. A mortal girl! A sudden bout of clumsiness and ill grace had befallen every guard who had stood between the girl and freedom.

Those who had followed the witch, Inga, outside met with further misstep. More than one had sworn to him that tree roots had risen from the ground and tripped them or held them back. That only made him all the angrier. A witch who could turn his own woods against him!

Still, he could see her tracks in the dust that gathered on the road. A small recompense, she would not be able to outrun or escape him. His eyes scoured the ground before him. Her footprints moved from the road and into the dark woods. _Foolish mortal!_

She would not survive long out here. The Elven King summoned his best trackers to the front of the group, and they set about following her tracks on the dark, damp ground. She was a slight thing, barely making an impression in the soft soil, but still, they were able to follow her.

A guard commented that they could not ever recall walking over this particular part of the once-great Greenwood. That angered Thranduil more. What magic could compel the people of the forest to avoid this one place?

His suspicions were confirmed when they were confronted with a wall. Not one built by hands, for it had not stones nor mortar, no wattle, and daub, no thatch. Instead, thick vines and raised roots made up this wall, covered in ivy and moss.

Even Thranduil felt compelled to turn back and never return, but he ignored it. He was King here, these were his lands, and he was master of them. " _Dartho_!" he commanded when he heard several of his guards start to back away. His steely gaze froze them where they stood. He smirked. Good, his word still held more command than whatever force resided here.

He turned back to the wall before him and laid his hand upon it.

“ _Edro_ _an aran Thranduil_ ," he said firmly. He felt a moment of resistance before the roots sank back into the ground, and the vines fell away. Beyond the opening, he saw a clearing, as fresh and green as the forest of his youth, a memory from long ago.

How was this possible? Even with all his power, he was not able to protect the forest to this extent. He heard the gasps and words of wonder from his guards as he stepped inside. He looked around, taking in everything his eyes saw. Was this a dream? Had he fallen prey to some evil magic that made him dream of the home he once knew?

The other Elves began to chatter excitedly as a cold feeling crept over his heart. There was no sign of Inga. He opened his mouth to give the order to search when he heard it. A quiet rasping voice, like that of someone who had not spoken in aloud in an exceptionally long time.

“Who dares...intrude...upon our...slumber?”


	10. Chapter 10

Thranduil froze. The voice had sent chills down his spine; he felt like an intruder. He might be King of the Woodland Realm, but whatever dwelt here did not recognize his authority. The guards around him reached for their weapons, but he raised one hand, silently commanding them to not yet draw arms.

"Who dares..." the voice repeated, more strength embodying it.

His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for its source; "I am Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm and its people."

"King? We know... no... King," a voice likened to dry leaves rasped, "Perhaps once... long ago... but they are. Gone now... the Ents are gone."

"Ents," Thranduil whispered, more to himself than to the cryptic voice, "You are _Onodrim_." His eyes widened at the realization, and he spun to look around him, searching.   
"Yes... little King... that is what you once... called us," the voice answered wistfully.  
  


Before him, the long hanging strands of the ancient willow lifted from the water; the whole tree seemed to raise itself. The startled King took half a step back. He watched as the tree continued to ascend, like a graceful maiden rising to her feet—the long hanging branches sweeping back like emerald tresses.

Large eyes opened upon the trunk; a swirling mix of rich greens and deep browns gazed curiously at Thranduil.

"Greetings, little King," she spoke softly, "I am _Suil-Waif_."

Thranduil found himself at a loss for words, unable to tear his eyes from her. Delicate butterflies and tiny birds shining like iridescent jewels darted playfully through her branches; the effect was breathtaking, and the King found himself enchanted.

"An Ent-wife," one of his guards hissed fearfully, "How?"

"Long have we... dwelt here, hidden from all... who might disturb us,"

Suil-Waif spoke slowly, turning her gaze to the guard who was now slowly backing away. "We await... the return of our Ent-husbands, although... I wonder... if we have waited too long.” The sorrow in her voice carried on the breeze, brushing the Elven King's Fey.

“My sisters... no longer speak,” she said, her words full of ruefulness.

"We did not mean to disturb you, Ent-wife," Thranduil spoke gently to the despondent creature before him, "We seek an escapee."

"You seek…. her... Inga?" Suil-Waif asked, returning her gaze to the King.

"I... how do you know her name?" Thranduil stared at her in wonder. His breath caught in his throat, but he did not move when slender branches covered in silvery leaves reached toward him. He once more raised a warning hand to the guards who had stepped forward, some drawing weapons. The Elven King permitted the gentle, curious touch to explore his face and waited for her to respond.

"We... I... brought her here," Suil-Waif answered in a tone that suggested the answer was quite obvious.

"You? Why?”

“You... need her." The Ent Wife pulled away but continued to regard the Elves before her inquisitively.   
  


Thranduil was taken aback. What possible use could he have for her?  
“What use have I for a _firieth_ such as her?" he scoffed openly, causing Suil-Waif to visibly drawback. "She has been worked half into the grave by her lord."  
"You are Elf-husband. You need... an Elf-wife, a Queen." Her voice had again taken on the tone of one speaking an obvious truth to a child who was a bit slow.   
  


Silence fell over the clearing as the guards looked from the Ent-Wife to their King.  
"Leave us," Thranduil commanded, never taking his eyes from those of the ancient being that continued to study him. Silently the guards left via the opening in the wall, leaving Thranduil and Suil-Waif alone.

"A Queen," he repeated her words, harshly, "I have no need of a Queen, and I have not for quite some time."

"Then why... does she reside now... in your Queen's former bedchamber?" Suil-Waif challenged patiently, watching him. Thranduil did not have an answer for her. He swore he could almost see her eyes crinkle in amusement at his scandalized expression.

"To protect her?" Suil-Waif suggested, "Keep her from harm? Keep her close? So that you might... look upon her... whenever you so wish?"

"Enough!" Thranduil snapped, rage rising within him. He did not like that Suil-Waif could probe his most secret thoughts, musings that he had been unwilling to admit even to himself.

"She is little more than a child compared to me," he snarled.

"And you are... but a new babe... yet to open his eyes," Suil-Waif observed calmly, "compared to me."

Thranduil looked away from her, selecting his words carefully before continuing. "You brought her here, brought her to me, to be my Queen?"

"Yes," Suil-Waif replied, "Oft I hear the forest calling out for one, one who would defend it for no reason other than it needed to be defended. One who cares and loves all around her."

"I could find an _elleth_ to fill such a role," Thranduil retorted with disdain.  
"And yet... you have not," Suil-Waif countered. A branch-like arm dipped into the small pool before them, and she produced a wooden bowl filled with cool, clear water.

The branches snaked towards him again, "Drink, and you shall see little King." Thranduil looked at the bowl and hesitated. He did not like being commanded, and he most certainly did not like being told where his own heart lay.

Inga? A Queen of the forest? His forest? He thought back on the first time he had observed her. She had looked frightened and alone. Yes, he had wanted to protect her, but he felt that about all his people. He had watched from the shadows as she was confronted by his soldiers. Her warm hazel eyes, glinting with the most unusual green flecks, caught in the faint remnants of golden sunlight. And... she had seen him.

He would not deny looking at her body when she had been bathed. He told himself he needed to ascertain for himself her condition. He had needed to be assured she had not been injured nor abused. Inga was certainly a woman grown, though lacking some curves, but that would come with time, care, and good food.

No! He would take no other Queen. He would subject no one to the rage in his soul, not after the last Queen, who had left behind so much damage. An _elleth_ could barely endure him; a _firieth_ would certainly perish if exposed to his dominance and often cruel nature.   
  


Suil-Waif gestured with the bowl once more, drawing his attention back to her. Reluctantly, he accepted it from her ancient hand and swallowed the contents in one gulp. The water was ice cold, and he felt its chill penetrate his entire being. His vision began to turn black, and he tried to call out for help, but no sound escaped his lips.   
  


Slowly his vision returned, but he was no longer in the clearing. Instead, he stood upon the bridge that led to the entrance of his Halls. The forest was deadly quiet around him. Unnaturally so.

The doors began to open, and out stepped Inga. She was almost unrecognizable. Even dressed in the gilded armor of an Elf, he could see she had filled out. Her face was rounder, her hair braided like one of his warriors, and she carried a sword and shield.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the sword. He recognized that blade; it was locked away where it would never again see the light of day. He heard a low rumble behind him, a growl that he was all too familiar with. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a band of Orcs, heavily armored and well-armed, charging towards his gate.

Turning to look at Inga once more, he saw several of her companions emerge and come to stand beside her; all were dressed in the armor of his own militia. Even the old soldier, Anlaf, strode out. Inga led them onto the bridge, stopping right before him. She seemed to be looking through him towards the Orcs.

She inhaled deeply; he could see her chest plate rise and fall. His name escaped her lips on a breath like a prayer before she rolled her shoulders and straightened to her full height. This sudden confidence rendered her even more unrecognizable to him. She was stunning.

"For the King!" she cried, drawing her sword. Her companions echoed her call to arms, each of them drawing swords and lowering spears, still more rushed forwards to form a phalanx alongside Inga. Their shields locked together, ready for the Orcs charge. For a moment, it appeared that Inga looked up and met his gaze, her mouth twitching into a small smile as his vision turned black once more.

Thranduil was returned to the clearing, but something was off. The air had taken a chill, almost as though it were midwinter, which was still some months away. He glanced around and found Inga. She knelt by the pool, stripped to her waist, her skirts shredded and torn. He moved to avert his gaze but noticed her eyes did not seem to see him. Something red and thick dripped from the canopy above her.   
  


Blood.

Another drop fell, and then another, and another. Like rain. Inga raised her eyes to look at the source, her face unmoved by what she saw. Thranduil followed her gaze and saw a mangled corpse impaled by the branches of many trees... many Ent-Wives. Both eyes and mouth had been pierced; the face was ruined, unrecognizable.

"Inga!" he heard his own voice call from somewhere behind him. He saw himself charging into the opening, closely followed by Elven guards and some of the Men he now played host to. He watched as he ran to Inga, falling to his knees beside her.

"Inga..." he called softly, his hand caressing her cheek. She did not seem to hear him, nor did she move, even as he shed his cloak and wrapped it about her. "She's going into shock," warned the red-headed man who was her close companion. What was his name? Rothgar!

Thranduil watched this image of himself lift Inga into his arms and move to carry her away. He caught a whisper that passed from him to her.  
" _Geheno nin_ ," he asked her forgiveness, "I should not have left you alone."  
"What of..." one of his guards asked, looking pointedly at the corpse above them.  
"Leave him," he snarled, "The Ent-Wives will do as they see fit; it is the least he deserves."  
  


The vision faded again, and when his sight returned once more, he found himself on a precipice, overlooking the valley beneath the Lonely Mountain, Dale, and the river leading to the Lake before him. A warm hand touched him, and he turned. Inga stood there, smiling up at him sweetly.

He had not seen her smile before, and the effect was almost disconcerting. Long had he lived with his heart and soul in turmoil, a storm forever raging inside him. Her sweet smile soothed the tempest to little more than an autumn breeze that shakes the final leaf free of the tree.

"Come along," she said, her voice full and confident, "Or we will be late." She stepped away from him, and Thranduil turned fully to watch her. As the vision faded, he caught a brief glimpse of Inga taking the hands of two small children and walking away. He was returned once more to the clearing.

Looking around, he tried to determine if this was real or yet another illusion. He recovered himself and found Suil-Waif peering down at him, waiting patiently; the wooden bowl he had drunk from was still held tightly in his hands.

"What was the meaning of that?" he demanded, "Was it an apparition? A means to manipulate me to your will?"

"It is whatever… you choose to make of it..." Suil-Waif replied slowly, "Act on what you saw... or not... that is your choice. But know this… little King... I... we... brought Inga to you... for mutual help. You... need her, and she... she needs you."

Brushing back a great swathe of her long reed like hair revealed a sleeping Inga, curled up and napping peacefully on the soft grass.

"Think on what... you have seen," Suil-Waif murmured, "The door will remain open."

Thranduil cast her an icy glare, but the ancient Ent-Wife was unmoved by his petulance. He stepped around her and strode over to the sleeping Inga. "Will she wake?" he asked, the calming feeling washed over him again.   
"Not till the sun rises tomorrow," Suil-Waif replied.

Carefully, he knelt beside the sleeping _firieth_ and lifted her into his arms. She was a dead weight but nothing he could not manage quite easily. Her head rested against his chest, close to his heart. He was unsure if he liked the sensation or not.

"I have no need for a Queen," he growled out his sentiment from earlier.  
"We… shall see," Suil-Waif answered as he strode across the clearing, stepping through the opening that had reappeared.  
  


Suil-Waif returned to her original place by the pool.  
"We shall see… Elven-King," she murmured before returning to sleep once more.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Thranduil gently laid a still slumbering Inga on the bed. A Healer came rushing in from the opposite room, leaving the side of the man his archers had shot through the knee.

_"Aran nin_?" the Healer enquired, looking curiously at the sleeping woman.

"She will need to be observed overnight," Thranduil said coolly, "She appears to have imbibed the ancient Ent Draught and it has had a soporific effect." The Healer nodded and began to check Inga for any hidden signs of distress, but finding none.

Thranduil stepped back, watching her work. The visions that Suil-Waif had given him disturbed him greatly. No Elf would welcome the idea of their lives being meddled with by an outside source, especially not in a way that would have life-long consequences of such a dramatic nature.

_And what of the consequences to her life…_

Unbidden, he heard Suil-Waif's voice once more. Inga would only live another forty years at present, perhaps longer with some care and attention. Thranduil had vowed long ago that he would never suffer such heartache again. Not after his wife had passed. Inga could never take her place, would never take her place.

Never would he tell another living being about what he had seen in those visions, most certainly not Inga. Nor would he speak of Suil-Waif's assertion that Inga would one day be his Queen. The idea was absurd!

He turned from the sight of Inga and found himself looking at the man, Eadric. His wounds would take some time to heal but Thranduil felt no remorse. He had been warned not to run, that to do so would incur swift punishment. Eadric had elected to ignore that advice and was now paying dearly for it.

"Is she well?" Eadric asked, peering as much into Inga's room as he could from his own bed.

Thranduil stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He debated, momentarily, giving the irksome human any information about Inga's condition.

"She took Ent draught, a drink that can cause many reactions," he explained, "In Inga's case, she will sleep until dawn." Eadric nodded in understanding and leaned back onto his bed.

A shiver ran down Thranduil's spine. He did not wish to leave her here. A voice screamed to take her back to her room, or to his own chambers.

_To protect her, to keep her from harm. To keep her close, so that you might look upon her whenever you so wish._

He cursed under his breath and turned to leave the Healing Halls.

No.

He would never invite Inga into his chambers. Many an elleth had ventured there at his behest, but none ever returned, and he doubted Inga would be the same afterward.

*

The elleth moaned and writhed beneath him.

_"Dina!_ ” he snapped. He needed no such stroking of his ego. Almost instantly, she fell silent, save for some involuntary yelps as he thrust into her. She made to raise her head and he pushed it back into the pillow, not once missing a beat. He did not need to see her face nor her body. Not when his mind gave him more satisfaction.

Satisfaction and yet he found it deeply troubling. He pictured Inga beneath him, her small body dominated by his, her soft curly hair hiding her face as she whimpered in pleasure. The mere thought of her in his bed was sending him closer to the edge.

With a roar, he spent himself, buried deep within that night's willing participant. The elleth practically purred in satisfaction, pressing herself back against him. He wondered briefly how much she would have enjoyed it if he had not taken her rear in favor over her sex. He withdrew from her and rolled away. A noise of disappointment followed. He rolled his eyes.

Each elleth who came to him was warned that this was not to be taken for anything beyond satisfying his lust. There was no possibility of romance, no courting, and certainly no marriage. Even now Suil-Waif's proposition that he take a lowly mortal as his new Queen filled him with rage.

The elleth slid in close to him, her arm wrapping about his waist. With a growl, he cast it away.

"Stay if you must," he grumbled, "But do not seek comfort nor affection, for there is none for you here."

He heard an indignant huff and felt the elleth rise from the bed. Her mutterings of ungrateful Kings and wasted time did not escape his hearing but he did not react. It was her time wasted, not his, and now, as she slammed the door shut behind her, he was alone and at peace once more.

He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, deliberately avoiding the tapestry that concealed the hidden passageway to Inga's chambers. She was not there, but still, he felt the call to visit her. He closed his eyes, willing himself to rest, but as he did so, he saw one thing and one thing only. Inga's sweet smile.

Though he had only seen it through a vision, he longed to see it again. Watching her lips curl upwards and her eyes shine, felt like a wave that washed away the anger and anguish, the very torture his soul endured day after day, leaving him calm and at peace.

This was but a foolish obsession. In less than a half a century, Inga would most likely be dead and buried. Her smile, no more. It would feel like no time to him at all and he could not bear to have his heart torn asunder again.

The other visions the Ent-Wife had shown him flashed before his closed eyes. Inga standing on the bridge, defending his halls. Her knelt in the clearing, covered in blood from some would-be attacker. And the final one... she had encouraged him to make haste so as not to be late.

Late to what, he wondered. Then she had turned away and taken the hands of two small children. He took a deep breath, willing his mind to slow. Two boys, one blonde, the other with the same soft brown hair as Inga, both bearing the pointed ears of the Elves.

He cursed his weak resolve when his heart and soul cried out for such a thing. A family, whole and hale. Not torn apart and scattered to the winds such as his was.

This was just a vision, created by Suil-Waif for reasons he had not yet reasoned, he cautioned himself. This was not his destiny, his fate. He would not tread the same path as Finwë and take a second wife, especially one his son would unlikely approve of. To walk this path would break his heart again.

Sleep came slowly and was filled with strange dreams of him lost and alone in the forest. He called the names of those who were dearest and closest to his heart but no one answered. The forest seemed strange and unfamiliar. The only comfort, the only thing he could trust to follow was the scent of fresh-baked bread.

*

He awoke before dawn and was glad of it. Suil-Waif had said Inga would wake at dawn, and he was eager to learn what, if anything, she had shown the firieth. He rose and dressed quickly, passing the maids bringing his breakfast as he left. He instructed her to leave it and he would return for it as soon as his business was completed.

He composed questions for Inga as he walked, taking the time to consider carefully how each one might be worded. When he and Inga had spoken the day before, he had accused her of being a witch, and she was already a nervous creature. He would need to be careful.

Arriving at the Healing Halls, he was surprised to find several guards waiting outside. As he drew nearer, one came out, looking worried and whispered to another. Both went back inside, seemingly oblivious to their King's presence. The ones remaining outside took notice and parted to let him through.

Inside, the Healers dashed back and forth, bringing water, bandages, herbs for medicine. The Healer he had entrusted Inga to stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him. Two more brushed past her and into Inga's room.

  
  


"What is happening?" he snarled, his anger coming from seemingly nowhere, "Where is Inga?" The Healer stepped forward hesitantly.

"We are not certain exactly what happened," she said quietly, "But it would appear that Inga... she..."

"Tell me!"

"She was attacked in the night."


	12. Chapter 12

“Attacked?" he heard the disbelief in his own voice, "What do you mean?" The Healer took in a shuddering breath, and he could see the shining wetness of unshed tears in her eyes.

"She... When we came to check on her less than an hour ago," she said softly, "She, Inga, was bleeding."

  
  


"Mortal women

..." The King was cut off before he could continue.  
  


"Tis true my Lord, mortal women bleed with each moon cycle. There was... not just blood, but..." the Healer hesitated, "There was... seed upon her skin as well. Someone forced themselves upon her whilst she slept. Whatever enchantment the Ent Draught put upon her, it has kept her sleeping. Perhaps it is a small mercy that she is unaware of what has happened..."

Thranduil did not wait to hear more. He turned and stormed into the room where he had entrusted Inga to the Healers' care. Elves swarmed about the bed, humming and whispering words of healing and songs to aid Inga's recovery. Inga lay in the same position he had left her in, though her legs had been moved.

He felt incensed. This was a place of peace. Here Inga should have found healing and recovery; she should have been safe. Within his own Halls, someone had violated her. A Healer he knew by the name of Bercalion stood at the foot of her bed, preparing a needle and thread.

"Why?" Thranduil demanded. Bercalion did not turn.

"We can stem the bleeding, but violence has been used," Bercalion replied, "She has been torn; songs alone will not repair the damage."

"Then work swiftly," Thranduil struggled to keep his voice low, "Dawn will soon be upon us, and she will waken."

"Yes, _Aran nin_ ," Bercalion nodded respectfully before directing two elleth to move Inga's legs.

Thranduil cast his gaze away. Though he was no stranger to the female form, it felt disrespectful to look upon Inga when she was in such a vulnerable state. He moved around the bed towards her head, leaving room for the Healers to work. She looked peaceful, still sleeping, blissfully unaware that anything foul had befallen her. She would wake soon. Already he could feel the sunlight falling upon his lands.

Unthinking, he brushed an errant curl from her forehead. She stirred slightly, causing Bercalion to pause in his work. Thranduil tried not to think of what damage had been done so that she must literally be sewn back together, like damaged clothing.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to how he would find who had done this. For he knew, it could be no Elf. No dark Elves dwelt within his Halls; he was completely certain of that, no one that would force themselves upon a slumbering woman. That left only Inga's human companions, two of whom were close by.

Thranduil doubted the old man Anlaf would do such a thing, and the man Eadric was half-crippled at the moment, unable to move without the aid of wooden crutches. Perhaps it was the same man who had forced himself upon her in the past. He had not forgotten how she had frozen at his touch on her first night in his Halls.

Inga's brow furrowed, and she whimpered, drawing his attention back to her. Her eyes flew open, shining hazel in color, he noted for the first time. Her lips parted, a breath being drawn in, and a piercing scream let out. She thrashed, and he dropped to his knees, one arm crossing across her body to hold her in place. Tears fell from her eyes, and his heart clenched painfully.

Two of the Healers doubled their efforts, their voices raised in healing songs. Inga opened her mouth to speak, but Thranduil hushed her.

"Do not speak," he whispered, "You are in safe hands." Her lips moved, almost as if she was asking what had happened.

"I do not know, but I will find out," he tried to soothe her, "Someone attacked you as you slept, and I will not rest until I find them." Inga cried out again, and he pressed his brow to hers. Her cries lowered to mere mewls as Bercalion worked.

  
  


"I promise," Thranduil found himself whispering, "I promise that this will never happen to you again."

"We are done, _aran nin_ ,” Bercalion spoke.

Thranduil turned and watched as Bercalion took a damp cloth from a bowl filled with warm water and healing herbs. He could not help but flinch, hearing the sharp intake of air and Inga's gasp when the Healer laid the cloth against her still exposed private area.

"This will help stop the pain and ensure you heal quickly, my Lady," he spoke gently, "We will leave you in peace soon." Bercalion looked towards Thranduil.

"We must change her bedding first, my Lord" the Healer waited patiently for his King to step aside. Thranduil nodded.

All eyes widened as their King slid one arm under Inga's shoulders and hooked the other under her bent knees.

Thranduil despised the cry of pain that lifting her from the bed caused. Her hands clutched at his robe, her face pressing into his shoulder as she trembled. The healers worked quickly, stripping away the blood-stained sheets and replacing them with pristine, lavender-scented ones. He lowered her back down upon the bed, and she was quickly covered with a fresh clean blanket.

Inga now seemed fully awake, no longer confused, and looked up at him in fear. She remembered their encounter the day before. He stepped back from her to let her know she need not fear him.

  
  


"See to it that Lady Gwestiel is summoned to keep her company," he said to no one in particular before turning and leaving the room, "And summon Captains Feren and Tauriel to my chambers immediately." He trusted his orders to be carried out, regardless of who heard them, but he could no longer bear to have Inga look at him that way. The image of her warm hazel eyes, staring up at him in both pain and fear, would haunt him for the rest of the day.

*

He found the clearing with great ease. It was as though the trees no longer fought to hide themselves from his sight. Feren and Tauriel were his only companions. Their horror at learning of what had happened to Inga had quickly given way to anger and determination to ensure it never happened again and that the beast responsible be brought to justice.

The vines fell away, allowing him in without his needing to give a command. Suil-Waif appeared deep in slumber once more.

"Wake!" he snarled, "Wake, damn you, and explain yourself!"

With great and deliberate slowness, the willow lifted her head and blinked haunting eyes at him.

"What... explain..." she yawned.

"You made Inga sleep until dawn," he snapped, "She was attacked and could not waken. She could not defend herself nor call for help!"

Suil-Waif rose to her full height, towering over the Elves before her.

"Yes..." she said, "The mortal slept, but she has been given a great gift." Thranduil scoffed.

"You still believe I will go along with this foolish notion that I would take a _firieth_ as my Queen?" he snapped. Suil-Waif gave him a knowing look.

"She drank... a cup of the Ent Draught," she replied, "Her life is now... extended... for one hundred years."

Thranduil found himself struck dumb at the revelation.

"One hundred years?" he murmured.

"For one deep sleep," Suil-Waif said, "She will now remain... as she is, for a century. If she should return... in a hundred years and drink another, then... another century she shall have. I entrusted her... to your protection, little King... you are the one who failed her."

"I?" Thranduil's jaw clenched in rage. No one dared speak to him in such a way.

"Yes, you," Suil-Waif seemed to be growing in anger, "Had you kept her close... this would not have happened. You know this."

Thranduil did not answer. He had felt... something. A call to go to her in the middle of the night. Had that been her calling to him for help? Had some part of her known she was being violated and called for him? He would have ripped her attacker limb from limb.

He had made such a show of caring for Inga's well being, claiming it was all he would do for any _elleth_ in his lands. But no sooner than had someone suggested he might care beyond that, he had pushed her away, to the farthest reaches of his halls save for the dungeons.

But if she had been in the rooms, he had given her, or even in his own... He cast such thoughts from his mind with a shake. A lesson learned and at great cost to Inga. He still balked at the thought of having her by his side as Queen, but if extending her life meant a night under his immediate care and that she could live as long as this forest stood, then he might…

“You have a connection with the _firieth_ , Ent-Wife," Feren spoke, watching Suil-Waif carefully. The Ent-Wife turned to him, her head tilting as she examined him.

"Yes, I am the one who brought her here," Suil-Waif answered.

"Do you know who attacked her?"

"No. Though I know much of Inga through her drinking of the Ent Draught... I know not what transpired once she left in your King's arms," Suil-Waif replied, "I left her in his protection."

  
  


"It is obvious that I am incapable of such a thing," Thranduil snarled, "Now two _firieth_ I have failed. But never again." Determination filled him, his pride wounded by this failure. He looked Suil-Waif in the eye.

  
  


"I will do better," he vowed, "I shall give her the means to protect herself. And when she slumbers from drinking the Draught you have given her, I will take charge of her care myself."

"As any husband..."

"Not a husband," he cut her off brusquely, "I will never be husband to another ever again."

He turned and left the clearing, the anger, torment, and pain that had washed away returning like a ferocious tide. He would never be a husband again.

He could not bear it.

*

Though Gwestiel spoke, Inga did not hear the words. The deep throbbing pain between her legs distracted her; the pain in her heart kept her from replying. Tears slid down her cheeks. She felt cold and afraid, despite the gentle warmth of the Healing Halls, despite the knowledge that two of Thranduil's own guards now stood outside her door.

Someone had come into this room while she had been sleeping. Someone had violated her, enacted such violence that the Elves could not heal her through song alone, and yet, she could not remember a single moment of it.

"Inga?" Gwestiel spoke, placing a hand over Inga's own clasped ones.

"I am... afraid," Inga admitted.

"You are not at fault," Gwestiel assured her, "The King will find who did this, and they will pay."

"That is what I'm afraid of," Inga whispered.


End file.
